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Stone Hedges

I love the rough hewn prosody of the stone hedges... I think

of the farmer who built them,

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his unshaven face beneath

the broad brim of a hat

and the star of morning in his eyes.

I think of how the songs of birds

lightened the weight of his task,

the hidden bliss he felt

in finding the right place

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for the shape of each stone

and how the stones themselves

became sacred in his hands

and wedded him to the earth.

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